


Don't Go Where I Can't Follow

by XxTwistedEverAfterxX



Category: 2P Hetalia - Fandom, Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: M/M, Not Really Character Death, Smoking, Temporary Character Death, Terminal Illnesses, angel of death - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-01
Updated: 2014-12-01
Packaged: 2018-02-27 16:11:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,325
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2699195
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/XxTwistedEverAfterxX/pseuds/XxTwistedEverAfterxX
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Matt knows he hasn't got long left to live, and with his brother already gone and no one else in his life, he doesn't fight it, nor does he search for a cure. He simply waits. Yet when death comes in the form of a young looking male angel, there's something strikingly familiar about him that makes him feel safe, warm, and happy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Don't Go Where I Can't Follow

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Smieska](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Smieska).



> So the wonderful smieska made this lovely post here, and I couldn't resist writing a fic for it. Well, I tried to resist, but that lasted all of about ten minutes before I whipped open a Word document and got to it, and this is the result! Angel of Death!Matthew awaits! Smooch smooch, and I hope you all enjoy it!

"Bonjour."

"Why have you been following me?"

It was the first exchange that they had had. The young man who Matt had seen persistently following him, frequently close by and within eyeshot at all times for over a week, had greeted him in the most unlikely place; the bed of his hospital room. He was kind faced, his smile gentle and soft, cheeks rosy and nose quirked ever so slightly like a ski slope, eyes large and violet, coloured like the Aurora Borealis itself had been painted onto his iris. Curls of fair blond that gradually tinted into a warm caramel colour brushed pale skin, fair and light.

In all aspects, the male before him was beautiful.

"To make it easier for you to follow me," the stranger replied with a voice as light as the breeze that passed through the window, thin white curtains fluttering with the touch of the wind from the outdoors.

"My name is Matthew," he continued, stepping forward, dressed in white and pale lavender clothes, modern, but still with an air of not belonging in the place, time or country he was in, "Are you comfortable?"

Matt frowned at that, eyebrows carving deeper lines into his face with his downturned look, eyes narrowed, the dark circles beneath them striking against his sickly pale face.

"Not with having a stranger stalk me," he replied, voice cutting off to cough hard, the rattling of his breaths wet and raspy, his eyes shutting tight as one hand pressed to his chest, the other covering his mouth.

Matthew didn't flinch at the display, nor make a face, but simply approached slowly. The closer that he came, Matt found his coughs easing, body growing lighter, his chest less constricted until he found air easy to pull into his lungs again, lowering his hand slowly as his vision shifted. Damn it, was the doctor coming back at all with something to ease the pain of his coughs?

"It won't hurt much longer," Matthew assured, stopping by Matt's bed, smiling kindly to him, his face so easy to trust that it had the rougher Canadian looking up at him with a critical stare full of confusion, "Maybe I can make this easier on you, eh?"

"Make…  _what_ … easier on me?" Matt asked slowly, making a face even as Matthew didn't when his hand was taken, lowered gently to the bed, despite the blood splattering his calloused palm, and suddenly, for the first time in so long, he began to feel warm.

It was as though the sun was finally able to touch his skin, heat him from within the blood in his veins. His bones began to lose their ache, feeling less like they were rubbing against the joints without cartilage, much smoother now in the way his fingers could flex and his elbow and wrist unbent. Taking in a deep breath, Matt was startled at the way that his lungs expanded, more oxygen flooding them than ever before, no longer rattling on the way down or crackling along the blood sticking to his throat.

"Do you feel better now?" Matthew questioned, smile as sweet as maple syrup and sticking to him just as similarly, the feeling of peace and contentment unable to be shaken off no matter how much Matt tried to find explanation to the sudden sensations.

Unable to do anything else, Matt nodded dumbly, lifting his other hand up to inspect, rotating his wrist, flexing his fingers, blinking hard to try and clear his vision, as though the colour in his skin had returned and wasn't the sickly yellowed hue it had turned since he had been hospitalised.

"Shall we go outside for a while?" Matthew suggested, sliding up onto the bed, both of his hands—still big, with long fingers but not as broad a palm as Matt's—cupping the single one he had pulled from Matt's face, stroking the skin softly before he raised it to his face, encouraging the calloused fingers to brush along skin softer than silk, face baby smooth and hairless.

Immediately, Matt flushed darkly, his lips pursing in embarrassment as Matthew settled himself comfortably at Matt's side, hip by hip and so, so gentle and soft.

"Follow me."

The words were a breath of air, the glow of sunshine, the shift of the world around the sun and so natural and beautiful and hypnotic that Matt found himself rising from where he lay to sit up. The hair that remained slid over the hospital gown he wore at his motions, the strands darker in blond hue than Matthew's, colouring a marigold brown at the ends, filled with split ends that were smoothing as he neared the odd stalker. They turned healthy, as though melting back to place, thickening, strands that had long ago fallen out from treatment after treatment sliding over his back and shoulders in a way that they hadn't done in too many years.

As though unrestrained by the IV tubes that sunk into his veins in the crook of his elbow where the port was tucked, or his weakened legs, muscles that had miraculously regained their strength kicked the blankets down until they pooled at the foot of the bed, body twisting at the waist and slid out of the cot he'd been stuck in for the past three straight months, immobile save for when he was helped into a wheelchair and lead out by a nurse. Standing for the first time in so long was so foreign, but so natural, and Matt looked to his feet in surprise at the odd warmth of tiles, finding them not bare, but with his favourite pair of thick, warm socks. It was in that moment that Matt began to feel panic and worry gnawing at him, dressed no longer in the flimsy white gown, but comfortable jeans, worn and loved, a white shirt, and his favourite flannel button up that he had clung to for enough years that it now had a permanent reek of his personal musk.

"I'm dreaming," he muttered, frowning, lifting a hand to brush thick locks of hair back from his face, fingers bumping plastic atop his head in the process, eyebrows knitting deeper as he pulled the item down, found staring at his sunglasses, a sickening anger and sadness welling in his chest, "I  _have_  to be dreaming."

Matthew gave a hum, tilting his head with the same unshifting smile, holding softly to Matt's free hand that didn't hold his sunglasses.

"Why do you say that?"

Matt looked up to the fairer haired blond, holding the item up for explanation.

"My brother was wearing these when he died in a motorbike accident. They were smashed beneath a car wheel when he flew off his bike after collision," he replied, crinkling his nose, and despite the cruel imagery, he found he didn't have the strength or heart in him to discard or break the sunglasses in a fit of heartache.

"He wanted to give them back to you," Matthew offered him, not once glancing away from Matt's deep lavender coloured eyes, "And you had demanded them back without a scratch before he left. He feels guilty, said that he hadn't meant to scratch them, much less break them."

Matt grit his teeth, drawing a sharp breath through his nose before he placed them back on his head to rest against his hair, blinking hard, thin lips downturned as he turned his eyes up to the ceiling.

"This is a fucked up dream," he spat, hand trembling in Matthew's, the soft fingers still smoothing at his gently, turning instead to pulling, urging him onward as the man they belonged to turned, heading towards the door.

"Come on… You wanted to have one last smoke, didn't you?"

Dropping his gaze back to Matthew, Matt dug his heels into the ground, yanking his hand back, offended by what he believed was some form of his mind's sick humour, though the vision didn't seem at all startled or troubled by his sudden action, instead turning back to Matt to fully face him, stepping forward again.

"Don't worry; this cigarette won't do anything to you. You can smoke it freely," Matthew promised, reaching out to take back Matt's hand, though his eyes trailed behind him to lock on a point beyond the Canadian, "Nothing will hurt you anymore, no matter what you do."

"Why not? Of course it will, I've got terminal…" Trailing off, a feeling of dread slipped through his reheated body like ice, dragging itself through his veins and stirring a prickling sensation to grow, stomach twisting in a way that was completely different to when his body rejected the medications and left him vomiting foul smelling and coloured bile. Whipping his head around fast enough to give him whiplash, what he saw left him feeling as though he could be sick again, his eyes widened in horror and disbelief, jaw dropping.

"You won't feel it when it happens," Matthew said after a few moments, interrupting Matt's distress at staring at his thinned, sick body, "You'll be asleep. I'm here to take you to feel better in your last moments."

Matt's head snapped back to stare forward once more, Matthew's smile now sympathetic, though remaining caring and tender.

"I—I'm dead?" he breathed, disbelief thick in his voice.

"Dying," Matthew corrected, licking his lips, chuckling softly, "I'm just here to ease the pain, take the burden and fear away, and make it as easy as I can. That's why when you've been taken for walks in your wheelchair, or escorted to tests, I've been close by watching and reading your thoughts and wishes."

Studying the sweet face, Matt found himself frowning again, though his shoulders relaxed, not as hunched as before.

"You're the grim reaper?"

Matthew laughed, the sound like the tinkling of a crystal bell, or the twitter of birds singing in the spring, and the room seemed to smell of pine trees and raindrops as the walls shifted, folding like paper into planes about them while butterflies flew past the open window from the curtains that they had formed from. In moments, bright blue skies were above them, filled with fluffy clouds and a glowing warm sun, fields of colourful flowers covered in dew drops stretched before him where the hospital had once lain past his room door. The monotonous pitch of the heart monitor was silent, gone, replaced instead with the sound of nature, a waterfall splashing somewhere in the distance as trees sprouted from the earth, growing almost in high speed before their eyes.

All that remained of the hospital was the single wall behind them with the window and thin white curtains fluttering in the breeze, the hospital bed, and Matt's body, seeming so unreal, so starkly different to how he looked now, yet he had been so used to looking the way he had that seeing himself the way he had looked a few years prior was a shock.

"I'm not," Matthew replied, looking about as the world became fuller with life around them, "I'm an angel of death. I just made the request to be the one to help escort you to the next place."

"Where is the next place?" Matt asked, frown loosening little by little, the scenery easing him.

"You'll see."

Looking to Matthew, Matt licked his lips, no longer as chapped and split as before.

"Why did you request to… um… help me die?"

Matthew sighed slowly, a mock exasperated look on his face, his hair floating in the wind.

"You truly don't remember me, eh?"

Matt shook his head, straining his memories, pushing past the murkiness of blockades that too many medications had given him, scrabbling for answers of any kind.

"Mm, they'll come back to you," Matthew dismissed, letting go of Matt's hand to briefly skip down a step of land, his feet brushing the grass as though he was weightless, his back to him, "Come on. Follow me."

Without question, Matt did. His socks disappeared when he stepped from the transition of tiles to grass, leaving him to feel the tickles of the green blades on the soles of his feet. Thoughtlessly, he left behind his body, breathing in all the air about him deeply, eyes scanning the little forest that was oddly oh so familiar, comforting, warm; a place his heart seemed to call to that made his throat feel tight and eyes burn with wetness. Matthew was silent, his own clothes shifting, white pants colouring to jeans, flowing white shirt turning thicker, longer, becoming red and baggy about his body. Minutes passed, and it was Matt who reached out to take the other's hand, their fingers lacing immediately as though expectant of the touch, and they fell into step with Matthew ever so slightly in the lead.

It all seemed so familiar, and the deeper they went into the little clearing of the forest towards a little hut that bloomed like a flower opening its petals, memories too began to trickle back. It wasn't sudden, or violent, but it was still powerful, his mind returning to life from the dormant state it had been in much too long, able to remember the beginning of the year, the beginning of the last, five years turning to ten to twenty to the very first memory of his baby brother giving him his first ever smile and brokenly babbling his name as his first word.

"Matthew…" he breathed, eyes widening, the little hut suddenly recognisable as his own, tucked away in privacy before he had had to move to the city for treatments, from the days where he remembered the old axe half lodged in the base of a chopped down tree trunk by the side of the hut, the forever smoking chimney and the veranda porch of maroon coloured timber that the pebble stone path lead to.

"Do you remember?" Matthew asked, his steps slowing, sneakers still crunching the stones beneath his feet as he turned his head, smile still pressed to his lips.

"Is this why you never came home?" Matt asked, choke in his voice, reaching the little steps that lead towards his front door, right where he had always sat to smoke, right where Matthew would sit beside him and drink cups of overly sweetened hot cocoa with marshmallows bobbing in the winter, or a freshly squeezed lemonade with clinking ice cubes and enjoy the pleasant silence, "You died?"

"I was never alive to begin with," Matthew chuckled, turning to face Matt fully once he stood on the first step, eyes sad, "I'm sorry. I was meant to take you a long time ago. I couldn't handle it after the first time when that bear lashed out at you, and you were protecting me, and we'd already seen so many things, done so many things, and you were so much more different after it all that… it hurt me too. Not physically, but… I couldn't finish the job. I couldn't let you die like that, mauled by a bear."

Matt reached up to press his hand to his chest where the thick and raised scars from the claws still remained, swallowing hard.

"Why did you come so much earlier though? The bear attack happened almost two years after we met."

"One feels comfort and at ease when a familiar face guides them in death. I never let people die alone or afraid," Matthew said with a huff of breath, tucking some hair behind his ears, "It so happens that I forgot about that bear and my duty. I was told that I couldn't stay with you when your life had been extended, and so—"

"You faked your death," Matt interrupted, frown back on his face again, "Faked you had been killed and taken in return for my life."

"I never thought you would smoke so heavily as a result and cut your life back down, but… when Tommy died so soon after I had to leave… well, here I am again," Matthew murmured, sitting himself down in his usual spot, pulling a packet of cigarettes from his hooded jumper's pocket, plucking one out and holding it invitingly to the other, "Come on… Have one last smoke. Then I'll take you to see Tommy. He's waiting, has a few things to say about your nasty habits."

Matt scoffed, rolling his eyes before stomping up the steps, sitting himself down heavily and took up the cigarette, placing it between his lips, blinking and drawing back a bit as he found a lighter before him, Matthew flicking it to get the flame to light the end before he pulled back.

"Tommy's always got a lot to say. He was always too opinionated," Matt grumbled, inhaling deeply, blowing out the smoke in a steady stream into the air above him, watching it, "I get to see him again?"

"Soon," Matthew promised, hand coming to rest on Matt's thigh, "You've got until the end of that cigarette you're smoking left, and then a half a minute after that."

"What happens then?" Matt asked around the cigarette, watching the sky above him, the sun warm, warm,  _warm_  on his skin.

"Then you just have to follow me."

Grunting to show he understood, Matt inhaled again, exhaled, inhaled, and exhaled on a cycle, the cigarettes tainting the air with the scent of tobacco and thick vanilla. Matthew had always liked the smell of vanilla more, and Matt hadn't hesitated in adding some scent and flavour to the home rolled cigarettes after a few months. Slowly, his hand reached out, resting on Matthew's thigh, and in response, Matthew shifted closer, resting his head on the broad shoulder, violet eyes fluttering closed behind his glasses, smile still soft on his face.

"What happens then?" Matt pressed, his voice soft, relaxed, peaceful.

"You'll see."

"I meant between us," he clarified, his eyes droopy at half mast, thumb rubbing small circles on Matthew's thigh, "What happens between us once I die?"

Lifting his head up, Matthew's smile spread, his eyes remorseful and it made Matt's heart stutter in anxiety before a kiss was pressed to his cheek.

"Anything you want, and this time, I won't have to leave you."

Ash fluttered to the steps below them, the glowing tip eating at the stick slowly, burning it up and drawing closer to the orange tipped end.

"Stay with me. Or let me come with you."

"I'll come visit you like I did with our hut. I still have to work. You can be my cute housewife, waiting for me like I did for you so often. Fair's fair, sweetheart."

Matthew laughed at Matt's expression, disgruntled and unamused, placing the crystal ash tray on his other side as he leant in, looping his arms around his waist gently, lips peppering butterfly kisses along his cheek, stubbled chin and jaw line, and then over his neck.

"Just follow me. It'll be okay. Your place is ready, and I'll take you there," Matthew promised between open mouthed kisses that brushed his neck, voice hardly louder than the wind, "Follow me, and we'll have eternity together this time."

Matt closed his eyes, the cigarette ashes dropping onto the steps, burned beyond the half way point. He inhaled again, chest expanding fully and he exhaled with a slow and deep sigh.

"Yeah… I will."

" _I'll follow you until the end of time, because I love you."_

Taking the cigarette from his lips, Matt exhaled, placing it in the ash tray before turning, broad hands coming to rest on Matthew's hips, bringing him in closer as their lips met tenderly. The cigarette burned out in the ash tray, but Matt paid it no mind. He could live eternity without another smoke again, as long as he passed away kissing the angel he had unwittingly fallen head over heels for.

"Just don't go somewhere where I can't follow you…"


End file.
